cribellate | narnia au;

[George would be lying if he said he isn't nervous as he stands in the Council Hall, waiting for his turn on the dais. The room is crowded, everyone eager to see the first class of mundane students to Ascend in two decades. Everyone eager to see who will pass the Angel's test.

Who will fail it.

His Nephilim classmates sit in the first two rows, a comforting barrier between them and the room full of Shadowhunters, many of whom George has heard story after story about in his two years at the Academy. Jace Herondale and Clary, Isabelle, Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane and their wee, blue babe. George wiggles his fingers at Max from the line, though he knows the whole group's attention is not on him but on Simon.

When it's his turn, he tries not to think about the odds of everyone surviving the ceremony. He tries not to think about Sunil, Leilana, and Boris and their choice to leave.

Simon did brilliantly, of course. George always thought Simon was just at the Academy training to step back into his life. When the blue light encompasses Simon in its sudden flare, George has no doubt that Simon will still be standing in its wake.

He kneels before Consul Penhallow as the Silent Brothers shuffle in their parchment-colored robes, rubbing out Simon's name from the circle of runes surrounding them, scrawling in George's instead.

He makes his vows in front of the Clave, swearing to protect that which is human and mortal, with no recompense but honor, swearing to be a shield for the weak, a light in the dark, a truth among falsehoods, a tower in the flood, an eye to see when all others are blind.

There's such a weight to the words, such a heaviness, but George has been working toward this for what feels like his whole life, and he swears without question. The Consul hands him the cup, and George holds it in his hand. It's warm, almost pulsing with life, and the liquid within looks like pure light, like gold turned to wine. It's too much for him to look at, so instead he lifts the cup with a grin and toasts the crowd with a hearty,] Sláinte!

[The laughter echoes in his ears as he drinks.

There is fire in his veins, burning away every drop of blood and leaving ash in its wake. There's a scream. It might be his, but it just keeps going, and surely he can't scream that long. The fire burns still, until it has consumed him whole, and when it spits him out, he is naked and smoking but not charred, not properly burned, under a blazing sky in a desert landscape.

He has no idea where he is, but he can feel the strength of the Angel in him now, a fire still smoldering in his veins. So he walks, because the only other option is to sit in the sun and hope someone stumbles across him. He walks farther and faster than he would have managed as a mundane, but he's still seen no other humans by the time the sun sinks into the horizon, and very few signs of animal life.

As the sky begins to darken, George hears a wind kicking up behind him, sudden and fierce. He doesn't have to turn and look to know a storm is coming. Up ahead there is a cliffside. If he can reach it and find a cave, he can wait out the storm. It takes every ounce of strength in him—and a vivid hallucination of Scarsbury in the back of his head telling him he's running like a mundane—to make it to the cliff before the storm is on him, and even then there are pebbles pelting him when he skids around a rock and into a shallow cave in the side of the cliff.

The storm rages outside, and George slides to the cool floor of the cave, letting the heat of his sunburned skin leech out into the stone. It seems massively unfair of the Angel to make him a Shadowhunter and then strand him in a desert without so much as a stele or even a witchlight stone.

He can't quite see the back of the cave, but beneath the howling of the wind, he hears something else, an echoing drip, and suddenly he can no longer ignore his parched throat and swollen tongue. He creeps along a wall of the cave toward the dripping sound. His toes find the edge of a pool of water, and George falls straight to his knees to drink.

A low, rumbling growl from deeper in the cave makes him pause, and a flash of lightning in the storm behind illuminates an enormous lion, lounging on the far side of the pool, no more than ten feet away, its eyes flashing in the darkness.

George hesitates for about half a second, then he speaks, his voice low and soothing,] You really don't want to eat me, I'm sure. But honestly? It's you or dehydration, and you'd be quicker. I promise not to drink all your water if you promise not to kill me?

[The growling continues, and George nods.]

Right. Well, I'm going to take that as a solid maybe and proceed accordingly.

[Lightning flashes again, and when George meets the lion's golden eyes, and is uncomfortably reminded of the cup and the glowing liquid within.

Now as the last time, he drinks anyway, muttering a quiet] Sláinte, [under his breath and feeling a sudden pain of loss at being so far from his friends.

The water is cool and sweet, and George drinks deep under the lion's watchful gaze.

Once he feels like he can swallow without pain, he leans back against the wall, letting himself catch his breath. He can feel the lion's eyes on him, and he glances over.]

So, thanks for not eating me. I'm…going to try and sleep now. I'd like to threaten to wrestle you if you try anything, but honestly, I'm well knackered, so probably I won't.

[With what is likely a gross display of stupidity, George curls up with the lion to his back and the storm ahead, on the cool, stone floor.

After a day walking in the unforgiving sun, the coolness of the cave had felt welcome at first, but it doesn't take long for the warmth to leak from George's body, leaving him shivering and curling up into a tighter ball. If this is some test the Angel puts mundanes through before they can be Shadowhunters, George is going to have some words with the Clave when he gets back.

He doesn't realize the lion is behind him until he feels its warm, heavy weight settling over him. He's too cold and too exhausted to struggle, but the lion's claws are sheathed, and George drops heavily to sleep in its warmth.

When he wakes, the lion is gone, but in the grey light of morning, he finds, at the mouth of the cave, a pile of clothing, the color of desert sand, a water skin, and a stele.

Armed with the few, simple runes he can remember, he sets off into the desert and, in another day's walk, he stumbles upon a caravan and has his first meal in days.

~~~

It's three months before the group of traders George fell in with arrive at the great city of Tashbaan, and thus it's three months before George discovers that the agreement they'd reached for George to provide them protection, only lasted until the merchants thought they could get more coin for him than for their merchandise.

He's sold to the Great Tisroc (may he live forever) and given as a birthday gift to Prince Rabadash, to serve as his personal body guard. He keeps his stele a secret along with the purpose of his runes. He lets the prince think they are tattoos from some barbaric northern ritual, and it adds to the mystique and intimidation of Prince Rabadash's pale warrior, and the prince delights in it, suggesting new tattoos on occasion. George only just manages to talk Rabadash out of tattooing his face, and Rabadash compromises with a piece of detailed calligraphy up the side of his rib cage. It tells the story of George's encounter with the lion in the desert, which Rabadash likes to tell to amuse visitors to the court with tales of his imposing guard's fierceness, that he lies with lions. They begin to call him Rabadash's Lion.

In another year, George has become the prince's shadow. Where Rabadash goes, George follows. People begin to whisper that the barbarian has enchanted the prince with his northern magic, that the prince is his slave rather than the other way around. George finds the rumors hilarious because anyone who has ever seen him and the prince together must know that George is the reluctant one here. He still bears scars from the fighting pits, where he'd been sent to teach him obedience. Rabadash has never beaten George or had him beaten, but he quickly discovered that his barbarian had a soft heart, and ever since, he would threaten to beat other slaves if George did not do as he was told.

Still, because of the rumors, the Great Tisroc commands that Rabadash get rid of George. So when the prince travels north to Narnia to court their famously beautiful queen, George is among the retinue, there as a gift to Queen Susan, a personal guard from the prince's own household. Before they left, the prince gave him another tattoo, this one over his chest, starting on his right pectoral and fading out over his shoulder.

Rabadash means it as a reminder that George is still his lion, but George thinks the lion was sent by Raziel, and that makes it more like an Angelic mark than a mark of slavery.

Narnia is…like something out of one of Simon's stories. Or his gran's. George feels something in his being relax as they cross into Archenland, and the horizon turns from brown to green, and the mountains they cross make him ache for home.

From the moment they cross into Archenland, George can see that he and the other slaves make these people uncomfortable.

George likes them already.

When they are presented before the four thrones of Caer Paravel, George can see why they call Susan such a renowned beauty, and he hopes that she will see through Rabadash, not accept his suit, even if that means George is taken back to Calormen as well.

It's the queen's sister, though, Queen Lucy, who catches George's eye. There is something in her expression beyond the discomfort he's seen on other faces when confronted with the prince's slaves.

When Rabadash speaks, gesturing for George to step forward, George's eyes are on Lucy.]

High Queen Susan, as a token of my suit, I wish to gift you my personal guard, Rabadash's Lion.

[George isn't sure how long it's been since someone used his name.]

[Lucy almost didn't come.

She does not always come to these things. Edmund found her in a tree only a few hours before the Calormen arrived, her feet dangling as she talked to the dryad of the tree, and convinced her to come down, to change from her petticoats and her bodice into a proper dress, to come and sit on her throne and not leave it empty when the Prince Radabash came courting. I could go there in my underthings, she says, and Edmund quips that it certainly would be one way to make people look at her instead of at Susan. She does not like that particular comment, but she goes and changes anyway, into a midnight blue dress and her jewelry all diamonds like stars.

Lucy does not like watching the retinue come into the castle. She does not like knowing that so many of those people are slaves, when slavery is illegal in Narnia and will always be illegal in Narnia. She does not like the way that Radabash looks at Susan, no matter how much Susan looks back at him in almost the same way, which is surprising. Susan is not easily swayed with pretty words.

She thinks they will be here a month, for parties, and for courting, and hunts, and Lucy is already exhausted, right until-

-he's so tall. And he doesn't stop looking at her, even when he is gifted to Susan, as if a human can be a gift. Susan blushes, and Peter looks distinctly uncomfortable, and so do all the other Narnians, but Lucy can't keep her eyes off him. There is something about this man that makes her think he is more, and better. He is certainly no one from Calormen.

Susan accepts all the gifts, the flowers and fruits and smoked meats and jewels, and the party starts, and it's a whirl. Lucy waits as Susan opens the dancing, she waits as Edmund makes noises about slavery, she waits until her own guards finally go to mingle, she waits, remarkably patient, until she spots that man, that guard who is meant to stay in Narnia if Susan does not marry him and comes up near him.

He is so much taller than she is, and she reaches and touches his wrist, gently.]

Will you accompany me, please?

[There's a balcony, wide, with benches, and the air is cool and crisp.]

[George's place at a party is generally a few feet behind Rabadash, but apparently his hovering makes Queen Susan uneasy, and George can't say that he blames her. Sometimes it feels like he's forgotten how to smile. Rabadash says it makes him look like a fool, so he's taught himself not to.

Having been banned from the prince's side, George takes up a place to the side of the room, watching the proceedings. Usually in these sorts of situations, George amuses himself by wondering what his friends would think or do if they were here. Jon Cartwright would probably hit it off with the minotaurs. Beatriz and Julie would dance like fierce ballerinas. Simon would...

But he never gets to what Simon would do because someone is touching his wrist and George looks down to see Queen Lucy, and he chastises himself for having let his attention wander so much.]

Me?

[He glances around like she might mean someone else, but then he catches himself.]

I mean...yes, your majesty.

Yes, you.

[Her smile is bright - she saw Susan get fluttery and nervous; he is so unsmiling, so unhappy, and Susan does not care for that and does not have the demeanor to remedy it.

Lucy does. She has always been the one among them foremost in making friends, in cheering others up, in wanting other to be cheered up. This is no exception. He is here now, and he is Susan's guard, or that is the intention. Lucy does not suspect it will happen that way.

She takes his arm and leads him out, and there's no one there. This is Narnia. The royalty here do not fear assassination attempts by their own, and the very wind rises up in their defense.]

You are not from Calormen. I can tell by your coloring. But your scowl, that certainly does match the mood.

Will you tell me your name?

[It's a cool night but he's large enough to be a buffer against any chill.]

[She smiles so easily. No one in Calormen smiles like that, at least no one that he's seen, no one in Rabadash's circle.

He lets himself be led, if only because he's intrigued, and when he glances quickly to the prince, Rabadash's attention is all on Susan.]

I'm not from Calormen, no, your majesty. My name is...George. George Lovelace.

[It sounds almost odd to his ears after so long, and his brow furrows.]

But everyone calls me the Lion.

What should you like to be called, sir?

[She asks it kindly, and thinks that she will keep him, no matter what Radabash should want, no matter what Susan will say or what Peter may argue. He is not even from Calormen. They have no claim to him except their strange and utterly barbaric practices.

He seems like he needs someone. A friend, perhaps.]

Well not sir, for starters.

[He says it without thinking, and then immediately stiffens, his head down because he's gotten in trouble more than once for being too familiar, especially with the ladies of the court.]

Forgive me, your majesty. It's all the same to me, you may call me what you like.

[She laughs, bright and sweet.]

Easily forgiven.

George, then. The Lion is something entirely different, in Narnia.

[She walks, gently, all the way to the end of the balcony. She takes him there, and sits up on the balcony, her feet dangling a little.]

Do you like Calormen?

[George doesn't quite smile when she says his name, but something at the corners of his mouth relaxes.]

Aye, I see it in your tapestries. It means something different in my home too.

[Yet another reason he's not sorry for the nickname. The question catches him off guard, and he answers automatically.]

Calormen is a great empire, majesty.

[She sees that, and she kicks her legs a little.]

So I am told.

[She sighs a little, but she raises her head and looks up at him.]

I want to know what you think.

[She pauses for a moment, but she shakes her head.]

I am no great friend of the Tirsoc or his son.

[Even if his lips don't cooperate, there's something in his eyes that softens as she kicks her legs. Such a simple thing to take joy in, and it reminds him of a world a million worlds away from here. His gaze flicks toward the ballroom where Rabadash is dancing with Queen Susan, and his tarkaans are otherwise occupied. For once, no one is watching the barbarian.]

You shouldn't let your sister marry him.

[If this meant he left with Rabadash tomorrow and was punished, so be it. Queen Susan was such a sweet, harmless thing, a little silly, from what George had seen, but not deserving of a life in Tashbaan.]

[Oh.

She looks at him, and then she looks over at the ballroom. Susan is laughing, now, and she's so beautiful the entire room is staring at her, unable to look away. Susan is kind, too, and it shines through her skin. Lucy loves her so much; she cannot bear the idea of anyone harming her.]

I don't know if we can forbid it if it is what she desires.

[But that said.]

Has he hurt you?

[For a moment, George's brow furrows in confusion. No one in Calormen would ask that of a slave. It would be an absurd thing to even consider.]

No, your majesty. He doesn't touch me. It wouldn't do for his guard to appear weak and beaten.

[He doesn't try terribly hard to keep the bitterness from his voice.]

But he doesn't hold back his hand from others, and he doesn't show mercy to anyone.

[She looks distressed for a moment.]

He would hurt her?

[She puts a hand over her mouth.]

If you were to go back with them, and she chooses him, would-

Would you protect her?

I can't say if he would dare raise his hand to a queen.

[He turns to look at her, and he knows what it would cost to stand between Rabadash and his prize, to defend that which is human and mortal. Maybe this is why the Angel sent him here.]

But if he tried, I would protect her.

[Oh.

Her breath eases, and she calms, and swings her legs a little. There are still weeks between any decision. There are weeks between any requirements.

She smiles again, and this time it's gentle. Pretty.]

Do you want to stay here? If Susan were to stay, would you be happy to stay?

[George can't answer that because he can't let himself think that way.]

I will go where my master wishes.

He is not-

[She shakes her head.]

You are not a possession! You must have your own decisions!

[She hates slavery so much, and she wants so much for George to be free, even though she knows that it would be complicated to keep him in Narnia, but Lucy is not intimidated by such things.]

[George watches her outburst with warm eyes. She reminds him a little of Marisol, or maybe Clary.]

Forgive me again, your majesty, but I am. A possession, I mean. And it doesn't do me any good to pretend otherwise.

You do not have to pretend-

[She feels like her heart is breaking a little.]

Come with me, please?

[She lifts herself up from the bannister, and her feet land on the ground.]

We are close to the beach, as it is just down there. And I do not like to go unaccompanied.

[George's attention flicks back to the ballroom. He's not sure he remembers the last time he was this far from Rabadash, but he supposes that if Queen Susan doesn't want his services tonight, her sister is a reasonable option for him to protect instead.]

As you wish, your majesty.

[He offers his arm this time.]

[She takes his arm, and takes him down to the beach. Even in the dark, the beach is beautiful, quiet, the sparkling light of the stars reflecting in the foam and in the waves. It is so shining, and the sand is soft. The Narnian sea is Lucy's domain.

She takes them down to where the water is breaking against the rocks.]

When Radabash presented you, you were looking at me.

Why?

[George can feel his cheeks flushing and he's grateful for both the breeze off the sea and the darkness of the evening. That's the sort of question that can get you in trouble in Tashbaan. Still, he feels like he has nothing to lose by honesty.]

Because when you looked at the slaves, you didn't look away.

Most of the Narnians I've seen...they don't know what to make of us. They know it's wrong, and it makes them...I don't know. Uncomfortable? So they look away.

You are a person.

I hate that Radabash has made you think otherwise.

[She leans against him a little, because he is a person, because he seems like he's been a little broken by what he has endured. Slavery is abhorrent. It destroys people, and Lucy knows it.]

You can stay here. If that is what you choose. I can find a way.

[People have touched him a lot since he came into Rabadash's household, but this is the first time someone has touched him without a demand. Hesitantly, he places his hand over hers.]

He hasn't made me think that. I know I'm a person, majesty. I just also know that I'm his possession.

If your sister refuses him as she should, he will want his pet back, and he'll find someone else to give me to.

narnia au;

i'm so sorry i wrote you an entire fic, it just sort of happened.

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